


look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:58:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20212417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: It's genuinely, sincerely, honest-to-God adorable that Bellamy Blake's finally found something that's popular in the mainstream that he actually loves from the bottom of his heart. Even if it's been two whole weeks and he's apparently still intent on singing through the entire soundtrack every single day, off-rhythm and off-key.It's most definitely not annoying. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Not one teeny-tiny bit.Or, the one where they finally seeHamilton, and Bellamy becomes a littletooobsessed with it.





	look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

**Author's Note:**

> _BFF prompt: "that's starting to get annoying"_

  


If there's one thing Clarke loves about her best friend, it's that he doesn't give two fucks about keeping up with fads and trends.

He never understands any of the memes that make their way into the group text. He thought the flossing trend was a very specific, contagious form of seizure. If asked, he couldn't even begin to explain Pokemon Go.

But of all the bandwagons in all the world, Clarke _ really _ should have known that the only one Bellamy Blake would succumb to would be _ Hamilton. _

"History has its eyeeeees! Onnn! Youuu!" 

She grins, pressing her phone tighter against her ear as she passes the closed bathroom door. 

"When did you get a cat?" Monty asks through the line. "Also, why did you get a _ dying _cat?"

"I _ wish _it was a dying cat," she snorts, padding into the kitchen. "That's Bellamy." 

There's a brief pause. "Bellamy can sing?"

"Clearly, Bellamy _ can't," _she says dryly. It's been a week since they got back from New York City. One week since they got back from celebrating Wells' graduation from law school. 

One week since they've seen a certain musical about a founding father who was _ "young, scrappy and hungry." _

"Has that been going on every day?" Monty asks, his tone mild. 

Clarke smiles to herself as Bellamy hits a particularly dramatic, soaring note, the roar of the shower no match for his straining baritone. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Not to be indelicate," Monty says, "but how can you stand it?"

She shrugs, even though he can't see it. "It's cute. He's excited about something. How often do you see Bellamy excited about something?"

"Definitely not something everyone else is excited about," Monty agrees. "Even if he _ is, _like, four years late."

"Who lives! Who dies! Who tells your storyyyyy!"

Clarke shakes her head, her grin stretching wider. "We'll see you guys tomorrow."

* * *

It keeps going.

Bellamy sings "The Story of Tonight" when they're out for drinks with Monty and the others, slinging his arm around Jasper's neck when the latter not-so-subtly leans away from him.

He belts "The Schuyler Sisters" when Clarke, Harper, and Raven are in the living room discussing present options for a mutual friend's upcoming baby shower. 

He even croons "Dear Theodosia" to their landlord's new dog. An actual drooling, tail-wagging four-legged _ dog. _

And yet, no matter how many covert looks and glances she receives from passersby, no matter how many concerned remarks and texts she gets from their friends, Clarke responds with nothing but a smile and a laugh. Because she meant what she said—it's genuinely, sincerely, honest-to-God _ adorable _ that he's finally found something that's popular in the mainstream that he actually loves from the bottom of his heart. Even if it's been two whole weeks and he's apparently _ still _intent on singing through the entire soundtrack every single day, off-rhythm and off-key.

It's most definitely _ not _annoying. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Not one teeny-tiny bit. 

* * *

She hears the front door open and the distinct strains of a familiar voice cranking out one of King George's reprises. 

"Lasagna's done!" she yells, finishing off her document and saving her work. "In the oven!"

_ "Oceans rise!" _ comes the lilting answer. _ "Empires FAAAAALL!" _

As usual, her mouth curves in a smile—but then she abruptly realises that behind her lips, her teeth are grinding.

"Get some plates ready!" she calls instead, closing her laptop and setting it aside. Gathering up her empty coffee mug, she heads into the kitchen.

Bellamy's elbow deep in the oven when she steps in, mitts on as he draws the lasagna tray out, the golden cheese bubbling slightly on the surface as the heady aroma of freshly cooked beef and tomato sauce fills the air. Without missing a beat, he immediately switches tunes mid-lyric. _ "Lord, show me how to say no to this," _ he starts warbling as he brings the tray over to the counter where two clean plates are waiting. He sets it on a large coaster, planting his feet wide as he starts swivelling his hips like a dime-store Michael Jackson impersonator, hamming it up for the invisible audience. _ "I don't know how to say no to this!" _

Clarke stops dead in her tracks, staring at her best friend as he starts grinding against the air.

"Yeah," she mutters after a long beat, "that's starting to get annoying."

_ "In my mind I'm tryin' to go!" _ Bellamy sings, completely oblivious. _ "But her mouth is on mine, and I don't say—" _

The rest of his solo is cut off, rather ironically, by her mouth on his. 

And he definitely does _ not _say no.

They're both a little wide-eyed when she pulls back a few moments later, sporting almost identical flushes on their cheeks as they stare at each other.

"Um," she says, and drops her hands from his face. "Sorry. I just wanted to say..." 

He raises a brow.

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up," she says, throwing her arms around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. 

He immediately wraps his arms around her waist, oven mitts still on his hands as they tug her in close.

* * *

The next morning, Clarke's in the shower when the bathroom door opens.

She grins as a pair of familiar hands find her waist, leaning back into the solid chest at her back. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Bellamy's low voice rumbles in her ear, still half-rough from sleep. He mouths lazily at her neck. "What was that I just heard?"

She stiffens slightly. "What was what?"

"That song you were singing."

"I wasn't singing any song," she says. A little too quickly.

He nips at her earlobe. "Oh, so that wasn't 'Helpless' I was hearing?"

"No," she says, but the faux steadiness of her tone is dashed by the unmistakable gasp that escapes her lips when his fingers dip between her legs. Throwing all pretenses to the wind, she quickly snags his other wrist with her hand and brings it up to her breast.

"Clarke Griffin," he admonishes as she leans into him encouragingly, his tone full of playful teasing. "Anyone would be more than satisfied after last night."

She grins, turning in his arms to wind her arms around his neck. "This is the first and last time you will ever hear me quote _ Hamilton,_" she says, "but I will _ never _be satisfied."


End file.
